Unrequited
by Ms.GrahamCracker
Summary: Don and Charlie receive help from an unexpected source as they try to solve a puzzling series of murders


**Disclaimer: If it comes to that, the only part of this I can claim is the storyline and the original characters. Everything else belongs to CBS.**

**No warnings**

**Spoilers for Season Two; Soft Target and just a smudge for Season Four**

**A/N; I wasn't sure how to word this note concerning the time frame of this story without dropping a few spoilers for those of you who haven't seen season four. I came up with this; This takes place in season four during the ridiculously short time Don wasn't involved with someone. (didn't give too much away, did I?)**

**Summary; Don and Charlie receive help from an unexpected source as they try to solve a puzzling series of murders**

**Unrequited**

The mid-summer, mid-afternoon heat bore down relentlessly on the dark Suburban. It's lone occupant, Special Agent Don Eppes, thanked the bureau's preventative maintenance program that kept the vehicle in top running shape and the A/C in good working order. Southern California was in the grip of a record breaking heat wave and the Los Angeles area was in it's fifth week of 100+ temperatures.

The intense heat made everyone at the FBI's LA field office irritable, from the receptionist to the director.

Two of the four open cases Don and his team were working on were nearly wrapped up. The third one, a series of violent home invasions, was waiting for DNA results. Things had been relatively slow, and that suited Don just fine. It was too damn hot for a foot chase after some crazy suspect. Not that we have a suspect to chase, Don thought. They had been working on the fourth case, a puzzling series of murders, for two week now, and despite their best efforts, they were no closer to solving it.

Five men were dead; all of them dying, painfully, from ingesting poison and their bodies dumped in open, easy to find areas, as if the killer had nothing to hide. The LAPD had asked for the FBI's help after the third killing and a few days later Archie Reed's body was found near a popular jogging area. It was sensationalized in the media and both the mayor of Los Angeles and the Assistant Director were pressing Don and the team for results. Don worked well under pressure, but coupled with the heat, everyone's short tempers, and the glaring fact that, even after last night, they had no evidence or leads, he was beginning to feel a knot form between his shoulder blades. When this was over, he promised himself a bone crushing massage in the bureau gym, an ice-cold six pack and, at least 10 hours sleep – naked – in front of a big fan.

He pulled into the driveway of the old Craftsman, his childhood home, and cut the engine. He felt the loss of the air conditioning immediately and wearily undid his seatbelt and hurried to the house. Entering the front door, Don breathed in heavily, enjoying the contrast of the cool air and warm memories. The lingering, familiar scent of wood polish seemed to center him and he felt himself relax a little.

He spied his father, Alan, sitting in front of the flat screen TV that occupied a corner of the front room.

"Hey, Dad."

His father raised a hand in acknowledgment but his focus remained on the screen in front of him and the attractive, but overly made up, local news reporter.

"_The fifth victim of what is now being called the Heat Wave Killer was discovered last night by a Chips officer when he pulled over a suspected drunk driver." _Her voice droned on, nearly monotonous in it's tone and delivery, as if the heat had literally taken all of her energy. _"As the patrolman was administering the sobriety test the unfortunate driver lost his balance, falling into a nearby ditch and onto the body of Logan Reddrick, a 26 year old construction worker from Glendale. Authorities would only say the autopsy report shows Reddrick died as the result of poison, the same as the previous four victims. The FBI has joined the search for the killer and this reporter tried to interview the agent in charge of the investigation, Special Agent Don Eppes, but he refused to comment. It would seem that they are no closer . . ."_

At the sudden click and loss of picture, Alan looked up at Don. His oldest son stood beside the chair, pointing the remote control at the now blank screen. It was Friday and it was apparent Don hadn't been home in a while. His gray suit had that _"been worn, chased bad guys through an alley, ate on the run and slept in" _look. Probably spent most of the night at the crime scene, Alan thought. It did look like he had at least been able to shave with the disposable razors he kept in his desk drawer – not the closest shave Alan had ever seen – still, it said Don hadn't given up on necessities.

"Bad one, huh?" Alan asked the obvious, his voice laced with sympathy.

Don answered glumly. "Yeah, well, there were only 3 victims when LAPD turned it over to us. Now, there's 5." He returned the remote to the table beside the chair. "Charlie here?"

"Yes. He's in the garage. Is he helping you on this; you know, looking for similarities between the victims?"

Don almost smiled at his father's hopeful look. He knew Alan wasn't always pleased with Charlie working on some of the more intense cases, fearing his youngest wasn't as able to stay as detached as Don. He felt an unexpected sense of gratitude that Alan saw his need for Charlie's help on this one.

He scrubbed his hand across his face wearily. "That's just it, Dad." Don answered. "There's nothing but similarities. All five men were white, between 25 and 30 years old. All of them were nearly the same build, height and weight with blond hair and blue eyes."

"That's not much to go on." Alan commented.

"No, it's not." Don ran a hand across the back of his neck. "We think it's a woman, though. Poison is generally a woman's choice of weapon and we found a long blond hair on Archie Reed, the fourth victim." He turned away from his father and walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen. His voice carried in from the other room. "A couple of teenagers told LAPD they saw a yellow Chevy Cobalt in the vicinity of the second drop off, but according to the officer's report," his voice changed it's tenor, then, as he recited the wording on the policeman's paperwork, "their 'credibility as reliable witnesses was compromised by the odorous cloud of marijuana surrounding them'".

Alan bit back a chuckle, not sure his son was ready to see the humor in the situation. "So, your only witnesses were arrested for drugs."

Don returned, swallowing a large portion of the bottled water he held in his hand. "Nah. They didn't find anything on them. Officers let them go with a warning, but it didn't help our case any."

"What we've got, Dad," he continued, "is a serial killer who's targeting a specific type of victim, but other than the physical commonalities, we can't find any sort of connection between them. So, yeah, I asked Charlie to try to find where they are different. I mean, I'm reaching here, Dad. I'll take just about anything right now."

"Then you're gonna love this." Charlie said from the doorway. He moved into the room, his eyes flashing with the excitement of explaining an equation or algorithm.

"I know you asked me to find the areas where the men were not the same, so I ran a reverse link analysis, but that didn't give me any results. Then it hit me, Don, it's like the same man is being killed over and over."

"Yeah, Charlie, we caught that."

Alan couldn't help the small chuckle at the affectionate tone of sarcasm in Don's voice, and the fact that it went completely over Charlie's head.

The mathematician continued, unabashed. "I used a network flow analysis to try to determine where these men might have crossed paths with their killer, then cross referencing the evidence of the blond hair that would indicate the killer is a woman, I focused my search on dating or escort services. It seemed reasonable that a specific type of man who bore commonalities in their physical appearance could actually be requested at these places and I was able to determine that all five of the victims were members of the Phoenix Connections Dating Service. It's possible that someone involved in the power structure of the service could be deliberately or inadvertently providing the killer with the victims."

Don's eyebrows rose in unison, his eyes wide and interested. "That's actually a good clue, Charlie. One of the best we've had. Why don't you come in to the office with me while we run that down?"

Charlie nodded eagerly and grabbed his laptop bag.

Don's steps were a little lighter as they headed for the door. Charlie, always eager to please, was still talking, excited and walking sideways so he could look at his brother. "There's more. And it was kind of cool the way I found it. First I applied a statistical analysis of . . ."

With a grim smile, Don took his brother by the elbow and guided him through the door. "Hang on there, Baby Einstein. Tell me about it in the car."

Alan heard his youngest sputter, " But, Don, Hancock Park! I was able to develop a hot . . ." The door closed behind them and Alan sighed, reaching for the remote.

123123123123123

When Don and Charlie arrived at the FBI office they found Don's team members Megan Reeves and Colby Granger in the break room.

"Hey, guys, Charlie has something for us."

At their boss's voice, Megan and Colby looked up. They were standing near the coffee maker, each holding two cups of the liquid caffeine in their hands. Megan spoke first, excited. "We may not need it, Don. We have the owner of the Phoenix Connections Dating Service in the conference room. She came in this morning saying all of the victims were members of her service and she has information that might help. David is in there with her. We were just heading back in with coffee."

Don and Charlie exchanged incredulous looks. Don could literally see the wheels turning in his brother's head as he calculated the odds that a potential suspect would appear there in the FBI offices before even being approached by the agents. He left the mathematician to it and turned to Megan, asking, "What's her name? What do we know about her?"

"Farris. She founded the dating service ten years ago. It's the most successful one in southern California. From what I have seen of her, Don, she's intelligent, has a great head for business and I just don't see her as being involved with the murders. She seemed genuinely concerned about the men who were killed and eager to help."

Don nodded briskly, trusting Megan's instincts. "Okay, let's talk to her."

Megan's teasing reply stopped him. "I hope you can keep it together better than Granger."

"What do you mean?" He frowned and turned his head to study the other man.

"Don." Colby stepped forward, his eyes shining. "This woman. Wait 'til you see her."

Don couldn't help the small smile at the sight of his junior agent acting like a school boy who just saw his first super model. He chocked back the humor, though, and shot him what he hoped was a stern boss-like look. "Yeah, well, Granger, let's keep it professional."

"Okay boss," he murmured. "I'll try."

Don took a minute to pour himself a cup of coffee, then added a packet of sweetener. As he stirred it, he started for the door. "Alright, let's see what she has to say. Charlie, why don't you come in, too. I'd like your input."

Charlie followed Don and his team to the conference room. Colby held the door for Megan, then followed her in. Don did the same with his brother, but just inside the door Charlie stopped suddenly and Don ran into his back. "Charlie." he protested, raising his cup of coffee up and away from himself, trying to avoid the hot sloshing liquid as it splashed out. As it settled he reached forward, pushing his brother into the room. He shot him a dark, puzzled look and walked in.

Don noticed Megan standing close to Colby, who, despite the warning from his superior was having trouble keeping his expression neutral. What really shocked Don was the fact that Charlie was also staring at the woman, not nearly as salaciously as Granger, but he seemed to have lost the ability to move. Don scooted around his brother, grumbling again about looking professional, then he raised his eyes to the woman standing behind the table.

Don had to admit, he was impressed. Lovely, he thought, didn't do her justice. She was not beautiful, in the classic sense, and she wasn't stunning, like a super model, but she was definitely one of the most attractive women he had ever seen.

Don had always been attracted to strong, confident women and both attributes fairly oozed out of her. He figured she was about his age, maybe younger. She was a true redhead, Don was sure. He knew that color was not something that came in a bottle. She wore her hair straight, sculptured and layered around her face and neck in a style that accented her cheekbones. Her skin was flawless with golden undertones that reminded him of marble. She stood straight, her shoulders back in perfect posture, but she made it look almost casual, as though this was how she would stand at home, in jeans and a tee shirt. There was nothing casual about her clothing today, though; the silk coffee brown skirt fell over her hips gracefully, ending in a slight flair mid-knee. The matching jacket was contoured to the curves of her body and beneath it, a lacy chemise peaked out from the V of the lapel, just barely covering her cleavage. The chemise was green and it matched her eyes. No, Don thought, her eyes were not just green; they were fathomless, luminous, twin pits of deep emerald green that sparkled even under the harsh florescent lights. He was mesmerized by them. His warning to Colby to remain professional haunted him and Don mentally shook himself to clear his head.

She stood up as they entered the room and Don noticed immediately that while she smiled politely as she accepted the coffee from Megan, her entire face lit up the moment she saw Charlie. Her smile was instant and brilliant and Don felt an irrational sense of jealousy. She held Charlie's gaze for a few brief seconds and Don saw a genuine smile crease his brother's face, along with an expression Don couldn't identify. She turned then to face Don and his stomach lurched when her face relaxed, her smile dimmed and her green eyes dropped their gaze to the tabletop. Don watched in amazement as her demeanor changed, turning from cool and composed to flustered and nervous in an instant. Her hand rose quickly to her hair and she began to twirl a strand around her manicured fingers.

_What the hell is that all about?_ Don wondered. He looked to Megan, hoping for a profilers take on it, but she was as confused as he was. Frowning, he shrugged and started towards her. Her reaction to him, as puzzling as it was, was not what they were here for. They had a murderer to find.

By the time he walked across the room to where she stood she had squared her shoulders and composed herself again. She offered her hand. "Agent Eppes." Both her voice and her handshake were firm and he got the impression she could handle herself in any situation. Her eyes bore into his and he found himself temporarily floundering. _A man could get lost forever in those eyes." _he thought. Clearing his throat, he began, "I understand you have some information for us, Mrs. Farris."

"Miss." She corrected him in an even voice, watching him, waiting for the reaction she knew was coming.

He raised his head and arched an eyebrow. "You can find the perfect mate for others, and yet, you're single?" He smiled wryly, knowing she had probably been asked that a million times, still he wanted to see her reaction. Her answer surprised him.

"Not everyone is looking, Agent Eppes."

He nodded, accepting her response, maybe even understanding it. "Touche," he said and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

"Why don't you just call me Jeanette," she offered.

"Okay, Jeanette, tell me about your dating service."

"It's pretty straight forward, actually. The days of arraigned marriages and meeting someone at the church social are over. On the other hand, our over-worked, stress-filled lives don't leave a lot of time for socializing. Unless you break the cardinal rule and date a co-worker, it's hard to meet someone."

If she noticed Don's slight twitch or the looks his team gave him, she didn't mention it.

"Some people find it hard to open themselves up, to take the chance at love or rejection. We take some of the guesswork out for them. The matches we provide go through extensive scrutiny and endless layers of compatibility." She locked eyes with Don, her green to his brown and she shrugged. "Sometimes . . . sometimes, Agent Eppes, people just need a little help."

Charlie watched her as they talked. She had changed a lot since he had seen her last, but not so much that he hadn't recognized her the minute he stepped into the room. It had been nearly 20 years ago, their last year of high school. She had been shy, withdrawn and insecure, nothing like the strong, confident woman before him now.

He remembered her red hair; he had always liked it. He noticed the golden highlights shimmering through it now that weren't there before. She was taller. She hadn't worn two inch designer heels then and he saw that she now stood eye to eye with Don. Seventeen year old Jeannie Farris had been indiscreet and wore unflattering, multi-layered dark clothing. She had over sized, dark rimmed glasses and her hair, although always clean and combed, had been unstyled and lifeless. He also remembered a splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that he always thought was cute, but today, her flawlessly applied makeup covered them. The glasses were missing, so he assumed she was wearing contacts. Her deep green eyes were still striking and luminous, with more life and intelligence than the unsure and guarded look they had in high school. It was her body, though, and the way she held it, that showed the most difference. Charlie had noticed Colby's appreciation of it, and he had even seen Don's appraising look. Charlie saw something deeper, though, than the well toned feminine physique that spoke of a healthy diet and hours in the gym. He saw a quiet, uncertain girl who had become a woman who was not afraid to be seen or heard. In fact, her posture and stance nearly screamed out loud to be noticed and Charlie smiled crookedly, approving the change.

It was obvious to Charlie that Don didn't recognize her and he was not surprised. He was, however, puzzled at her reaction to Don and her apparent acceptance of the fact he had no idea who she was. He knew she had recognized both of them instantly when they entered the room, but she didn't seem to want to address that. With a competent businesslike manner she opened her Italian leather briefcase that was sitting on the table and removed some papers. The bottom page fluttered as they were lifted and it drifted to the floor. Immediately, Don leaned forward to pick it up and as Charlie watched his brother hand it to her, he was hit with a strong sense of deja-vu. Jeanette took the paper from Don's hand and a recollection of images from high school flashed through Charlie's senses with a clarity that amazed him.

123123123123123

_The Friday afternoon rush to the lockers was in full swing and Charlie maneuvered his way around the larger students, avoiding elbows, book corners and the occasional outstretched foot with practiced ease. He slid into his locker with a bang and opened it quickly. With both of his parents busy until later that evening, he was suppose to go with Don to baseball practice and he knew if he wasn't ready when his brother got there, he would be angry._

"_Hi, Charlie. In a hurry?" He turned at the sound of the quiet voice two lockers down and smiled at Jeannie Farris. "Yeah," he said breathlessly. "I gotta be ready when Don gets here or he'll be pissed."_

"_Oh, I don't think he . . ." she started, then another voice cut her off. "Hey, Charlie, you ready?"_

_Both Jeannie and Charlie jumped at the sound of Don's voice as he approached, followed by two other members of the baseball team, Justin Ackers and Steve McDaniels. Jeannie twirled her hair quietly, as Charlie turned and stuck his head in his locker, grabbing his books as he mumbled, "Almost."_

_Don was beside him, then, opening his own locker. "Well, hurry it up, Chuck. Coach will be mad if we're late." With cool casualness, Don threw two books into his locker and pulled one out, along with his baseball glove, then slammed the door with the same nonchalance. _

_Charlie was trying to stack a number of books in his arms when Val Eng walked up, opening the locker on the other side of Charlie's and said to the group. "Hey, how did you guys do on Hayden's pop quiz?"_

_There were moans from Justin and Steve, but Don looked at Val and answered, "Not bad. Got a C-." He smiled at her and stepped in a little closer. "I'll bet you got an A." She smiled back at him, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. "Yes. It wasn't too hard." He remained close to her and she smiled, flirting a little, then she teased him by looking away towards Charlie and Jeannie. Charlie was still trying to juggle a large number of books and didn't answer, but Jeannie said quietly, "I didn't think it was too hard, either. I got . . ."_

_At that moment the two books on top of Charlie's stack slid off, landing on Justin Ackers' foot. He yelped, hopping on his good foot, then growled, "Hey, watch it, dweeb." He reached out and shoved Charlie backwards, directly into Jeannie. Charlie's smaller form hit her hard and she couldn't stop herself from falling backwards in an awkward, graceless pile. Charlie followed, landing on top of her in a compromising and embarrassing position. Their combined collection of books, papers and notebooks lay scattered around them._

_Charlie scurried to his feet immediately, red faced and apologizing to Jeannie, then to Justin and Don and Val and everyone who had suddenly gathered around to laugh._

_Jeannie, he knew, was mortified. She scrambled to gather her books with as much dignity as she could manage. Her face was bright red and her eyes were wet and glistening with unshed tears. Don, angry and exasperated and slightly embarrassed himself reached down and, with Val's help, started picking up some of the books._

123123123123123

The distress that hung in the air that day at school was suddenly as palatable as it was then. Charlie was pulled from his thoughts as Don pulled a chair over towards Jeanette and she sat down. He noticed she seemed to be upset about something. Her eyes were moist and streaked with despair. Don handed her a clean handkerchief and she took it from his hands, gratefully. Her voice, when she spoke, was tremulous and quiet.

"I have been out of state for a month, starting a dating service in Atlanta and it has taken me an additional few days to get caught up on the news. I feel terrible. If I had just read the news reports when I first returned, maybe Logan Reddrick would still be alive."

Because he had done it for countless witnesses or aggrieved family members in the past, Don leaned forward and placed a gentle, comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're here now. That's what matters. We need to find this killer."

She stiffened, imperceptibly, at his touch and drew back slightly, returning once again to her previous demeanor. He saw the turmoil in her eyes, but it was the longing, the obvious yearning they also reflected that caused Don to catch his breath. Puzzled once again by her reaction to him, he withdrew his hand and leaned back, deciding to stay out of her personal space. Clearing his throat, he returned to the persona of Special Agent.

"Why don't you show us what you have?"

Glad for the distraction, she took a deep breath and began. "All of the men who were killed were members of my dating service. Eli Mendal and Archie Reed were members for nearly eight months now and Randall Carson and Leo Chesterton for six months, Logan Reddrick just three months." She separated the papers in front of her. "I brought all of their PDQ's – their Personal Data Questionnaires. They filled them out when they first joined. I also brought their PMP's – Perfect Mate Profile; their wish list, if you want, for the type of woman they were looking for."

"Aren't those protected and secure for privacy?" he asked.

"Yes. Normally, it would take a court order for you to see them. I assumed you would obtain one, so I thought I would expedite the process and override the security measures and bring them directly to you. After all, the poor men are gone. What could it hurt? And if it can help . . ." She shrugged.

Don nodded, still trying to avoid her eyes and keep his distance. "Not everyone is as willing to cooperate. Thank you," he mumbled.

She continued, indicating the pages he held in his hand. "The pages with the yellow border shows the women they have been matched with. The pages with the blue border denotes any action taken with the matches, such as a phone conversation or a meeting."

She let him peruse the documents for a few seconds, then spoke again. "If I may be so bold, Agent Eppes, I think I might have found something significant." He looked up, interested, and she continued. "Angela Garrison was matched to all of the murder victims. She is the only one that all five of them have in common. You'll see, there, on the papers, she chose to meet with each of them and, if I am not mistaken, the meetings were just a few days before each of them were killed. I would assume that would make her a prime suspect."

Don nodded, his breath quickening at the thought of solving this case. "What can you tell me about her? Did you bring her questionnaire and profile?"

As she handed the requested paperwork to him, she spoke. "Angela is quiet, seemed very shy. She joined just before I left for Atlanta. I remember her quite clearly because she was very specific about the type of man she wanted. All of the poor men who were murdered matched at least 85 per cent of her requirements. Women are usually more interested in the personality or shared belief than they are the physical aspect. Not Angela. She wanted 25 to 30 years old, light colored hair, blue eyes, muscular build."

Don looked across the room at Megan, his eyebrows raised, asking for her to confirm his thoughts. She nodded her head quickly. "Definitely." she said. "If someone she loved or someone she thought loved her broke off a relationship, she could easily transfer her rage and anger to someone else, someone who resembled him."

Jeannette Farris spoke quietly. "Some of us handle rejection better than others."

Don frowned, sensing something in her voice, but before he could comment, David broke in. He had entered Angela's name into the laptop in front of him as soon as Jeanette had said it. "Don," he said, excitement lighting up his eyes as he hit a few keys on the keyboard. "Check it out."

The large monitor on the wall showed a split screen of two California drivers licenses. On the left was a young woman with long blond hair and troubled eyes. The name read Angela Garrison. The right side of the screen showed Paul Garrison, her husband. Don's lips pursed tightly together as he took in the muscular, blond haired, blue eyed man. "Paul Garrison was granted a divorce from Angela last month." David spoke. "The first murder was one week later."

Don suddenly recalled the drugged witnesses. "David, check DMV. What does she drive?"

It only took a moment for David to answer, "A yellow Chevy Cobalt", then, "I've got her address, Don. She lives in Hancock Park."

Don caught his breath and looked at Charlie. He hadn't had a chance to tell his team yet, that Charlie had also worked out a possible hot zone from the pattern of locations the bodies were left at. It was centered in Hancock Park.

"Alright, guys, let's move on this." He handed Angela's PDQ to Colby. "See if LAPD has a car in her area. Have them do a roll by and see if she is at home. David, call her place of employment and see if she's at work today. Megan, come with me. We'll get the task force mobile."

He turned to Jeanette again as his team hustled to do their jobs. "Thank you. If you'll wait here a few minutes, I'll have someone escort you downstairs."

As Don left the room he silently cursed his luck with women. Another place, another time and . . . who knows. Definitely something to consider later. After all, he knew where she worked. But, for now, he had a job to do.

Charlie stayed where he was. He was used to Don and the team running off to save the world, leaving him behind and he was surprised to see Jeanette watch them leave with the same wistful emotion he often felt. No, not the team, he thought. She was watching Don. She could see him though the glass partitions as he coordinated the task force. She smiled, a sad, oddly vulnerable smile and Charlie's thoughts drifted once again to the incident in the school hallway.

123123123123123

_Amongst the scattered books and papers that were still lying around, Charlie saw a notebook, lying open, in front of the lockers. Knowing it wasn't his, he picked it up to give it to Jeannie. That was when he saw it – and he was confused at first. Why was his brother's name written all over her notebook?_

_He studied it, taking in the lavender ink the girls all favored, the elaborate scrolls, the feminine flourishes, the obvious attempt at different patterns and writing styles. Through it all, however, it was his brother's name that stood out – jumped out at him in a way he had never seen it before._

_Mrs. Don Eppes Mr. and Mrs. Don Eppes Don and Jeannie Eppes Mrs. Jeannie Eppes_

_A small strangled sound made him look up and his stomach clenched at the sight of her. Her earlier embarrassment and flushed, red face had changed to an expression of fear and panic, her skin void of any color at all, her striking green eyes wide and pleading._

_Don was standing there, then, beside them, trying to hand Charlie some of his books, and for a moment he swore Jeannie had stopped breathing._

_Bewildered by both her reaction and the puzzling things she had written, he understood on some level what would happen if Don saw the notebook. He closed it quickly, his eyes locked with hers, and silently handed it to her._

123123123123123

Charlie blinked back to the present, watching Jeanette follow Don's movements as he prepared his team. She became aware of his scrutiny and faced him once again. For several seconds the room remained silent, then she said quietly, "You never told him, did you?"

He shook his head, smiling shyly in their conspiracy. "Even at 12 years old I knew it would serve no purpose to tell him and embarrass you like that."

"I would have died, Charlie, right there and then." She smiled in a way that said she couldn't believe she had ever been that young girl with those feelings. "That last year, the feelings were so intense – so strong. I had a crush on him all through high school, but our senior year I tried everything I could to get him to notice me. I changed my hair, I bought clothes that were in style – big mistake – the Madonna look was not me. I went to all of his games, baseball, hockey, even though I didn't have a clue or care what was going on. I just wanted to watch him. I even offered to help him in Chemistry. He wasn't doing all that great in Chemistry that year." She sighed and said quietly, "I guess he just had other things on his mind."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, "he was kind of busy senior year. His schedule was pretty full."

"Don't make excuses for him." she said, with an unexpected sharpness in her tone. "The only thing he was full of was himself. He was busy alright, but it wasn't academically. He might have been popular and the captain of the baseball team, but he was just a teenage boy and getting good grades was not a top priority, unless the subject was cheerleaders."

Charlie smiled but raised a questioning eyebrow at the broad characterization.

"I don't mean that, of course." she said, waving her hand dismissively, as if she were wiping the comment away. "Two of my best friends in college were high school cheerleaders. Don just didn't see me that way. It wasn't his fault. I admit, I didn't put out the same signals that the other girls did. Not that I didn't try in his case." She paused and her voice grew a little softer. "I guess I just didn't know how."

Charlie felt like he should say something. "You know, an argument could be made that jocks and cheerleaders were often seen as couples because of shared interest and a closer proximity to each other on a regular basis."

She knew he was trying to make her feel better and she chuckled. "And the short skirts and tight sweaters had nothing to do with it."

She bit back a laugh when Charlie blushed, then she continued. "I kept hoping, you know, that one day he would wake up and see me, but when he asked Val Eng to the prom I realized it wasn't going to happen. Just before graduation, I had to admit to myself that Don and I weren't meant to be. He went onto college on his baseball scholarship and I went to UCLA. End of story."

"Is it?" Charlie asked, his head cocked a little to one side, his eyes full of compassion. "I saw the look on your face when he walked in today."

Her smile was sheepish, as though she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Well, you know how it is - your first love and all - unrequited or not. Yes, I have to admit it was a shock seeing him and it was hard for me to face the fact that I wasn't as over him as I thought I was."

Charlie thought about what she had just told him and he thought about Don, trying so hard to make the last few relationships work. "He's changed, you know. He's one of the greatest guys I know."

Her head tilted backwards and she laughed, delighted with his innocence. "Oh, Charlie, you always did think that. Everyone knew he was your hero."

In the silence that followed, Charlie felt an unexpected urge, and even though he knew he was as good as dead if Don ever found out, he looked at her, with hope shining in his eyes and said, "You know, he's not seeing anyone right now. You said you weren't married. Maybe . . ."

Jeanette shook her head slowly, but firmly. "I also said I wasn't looking. No, Charlie, as much as I would like to know what it would be like to actually go out with him, I think it would be a mistake."

He opened his mouth, obviously ready to defend his brother, but she stopped him by raising her hand. She took a moment, trying to find the right words, as if it was vitally important that he understood. "At the time, I loved him more than I had ever loved anyone before. But, it was a fantasy; a young girl's fantasy. And sometimes, Charlie, your fantasies are best left as they are; unattainable and precious." There was a sudden uncertainty about her and she looked at Charlie, her eyes pleading for his understanding. "I don't think I could be me with Don, you know? I'm afraid I would always be that wallflower and he would always be the superstar jock." She realized, suddenly, that she was twisting a strand of hair and quickly dropped her hand to her side. She stood a little straighter, once again in control and her next words, tinged with conviction, startled him. "There's a reason sports events are played on a manicured lawn, Charlie – flowers don't belong there."

Charlie wasn't ready to concede. "I find that assessment problematic," he argued. "I think you are underestimating yourself and your ability to adapt. Obviously you have taken great strides to overcome what you perceived as a disability."

She took a deep breath. "For so many years, I was the shy, quiet one; the wallflower who sat on the sidelines at dances and kept hoping . . . . That all changed in college. Away from Pasadena High School and the preconceived image everyone had, I was free to re-invent myself. I read all the self-improvement books I could get my hands on. I studied makeup application and skin care. I joined a fitness club and tried my hand at fashion design. I decided that the best revenge for myself and others like me was to be the best me I could be. And I am not only happy with who I am, I'm damn proud of it. I don't want to lose that."

Charlie was puzzled. "And you think being with Don would destroy that?"

"It's not Don," she said, emphatically. "it's me. Any relationship I might have with Don would include too much baggage. I'm happy, Charlie. I have a good life. I'm successful and I feel good about what I do and what I've accomplished. I have the occasional relationship, nothing serious yet, but I am not counting out the possibility of one. I just don't think it could be with Don."

The door opened and Don walked in, followed by David, Colby and Jr. Agent Jeremiah Pope. "The director's on the phone with Judge Angier," he said to them. "We'll have the warrant in a few minutes. Jeannette, this is Agent Pope. He'll escort you downstairs. Do you need a way home?"

She shook her head and reached for her briefcase, closing it and lifting it from the table. "Thank you. I have a car waiting." She started towards the door, with Agent Pope taking a position behind her. She stopped in front of Don, once again extending her hand. "If I can be of any further assistance, Agent Eppes, please, call my office." She turned to leave, walking past Don and his team, feeling all of their eyes on her as she moved. At the door she paused, looking back once more, and smiled. Her green eyes sparkled with hidden emotion and she said coyly, "It was nice to see you again, Charlie." It was smooth and polished, as if it had been rehearsed and her statement produced exactly the desired effect. Don, Colby and David all stood stunned, mouths gaping open, in shocked silence.

As the door closed behind her, Don turned quickly to his brother. "Whoa, Chuck, did I miss something?"

Charlie laughed grimly at the understatement. "Yeah, Don, you sure as hell did. And stop drooling, Granger."

"What's going on?" Don demanded.

Instead of answering the question Charlie simply asked, "You didn't recognize her, did you, Don?"

"What? Believe me, buddy, if I ever knew that woman I would remember it."

"We went to high school with her." Charlie explained. "She was in your English and Chemistry classes our last year."

"No way!" Don protested, stunned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Jeannie Farris."

Colby uttered a soft sound. "You went to high school with that? Oh, God, don't tell me she was a cheerleader."

The disgusted look both Eppes brothers sent his way caused Colby to wince apologetically.

Don shook his head slowly, searching for a memory of . . . something. "Man, I'm telling you, I don't remember her at all." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I was a jock. I was never in the same league with classy girls like that."

123123123123123

When Charlie returned home later that evening, he was surprised to see Don sitting in the dining room, an open book in front of him on the table and a bottle of beer in his hand. He had obviously showered and changed clothes. He was now wearing a dark, loose fitting tee shirt, shorts and sneakers. More importantly, he looked relaxed. He looked up at the sound of the door and smiled and Charlie knew everything had gone well during the arrest.

"You got her, didn't you?" It was more of a statement than a question and Don smiled again and nodded his head. "Yep. Signed, sealed and delivered to the district attorney."

"Did she . . . why . . . ?"

"Apparently, she just lost it when her husband left her. Megan said she was symbolically killing him each time killed another man." He tipped the bottle up and swallowed some of the cold beer. "She even went off on Colby. He did kind of fit the general description. David and I had to literally pull her off of him. The thing is, all the time she's scratching and kicking him, she kept calling him Paul and saying she loved him." He shook his head. "It's weird."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, "and how weird was it that Jeannie Farris helped you find her?"

"Aw, Charlie, you had already given us the connection and the hot zone. We would have found her soon enough." Don reached forward and squeezed his brother's shoulder; his way of saying thanks. He leaned back again and, with a twinkle in his eyes, said, "But she was sure a lot easier to look at and listen to than you, buddy."

Charlie sent him a fake glare, then pointed to the book. "What's that?"

Silently, Don slide the large open book across the table to his brother. Charlie smiled. It was their high school yearbook, and it was opened to Jeannie's picture. He looked back to Don, who was shaking his head. "I just can't believe I don't remember her. Look at those eyes, Charlie. I should remember those eyes. They're beautiful."

"She had the locker next to us." Charlie said quietly.

"What are you talking about?" Don scoffed. "Val Eng was next to us."

"On one side," Charlie agreed. "Jeannie was on the other side, next to you."

Don's eyes creased together as he tried to remember and he was suddenly uncomfortable with the implications of what that said about him.

Charlie took pity on him and explained. "It's not your fault, Don. I'll bet 75 per cent of the senior class didn't notice or remember her." Charlie studied his brother for a moment, then teased. "She noticed you, though. She had a big crush on you."

"She did?" The corners of Don's lips curled up slightly and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Yeah. She tried everything to get your attention."

"I didn't know." Don couldn't help the slightly pleased, even cocky expression that appeared on his face, only to dissolve an instant later into one of despair. "So, wait, you're telling me I even screwed up on a relationship in high school that I didn't even know I was in?"

"No. What I am saying is that even though . . . you were . . . preoccupied . . . with other things, she was essentially invisible – not just to you, but a lot of people."

"Why?"

"Sometimes, it's easier being invisible. I know there were a lot of times I wish I had been more invisible. It seemed like there was this big, bright, obscenely bright spotlight on me and everything I did."

Don drew the conversation back to Jeannie. "But, Charlie, that woman today was anything but invisible. What happened?"

"She changed. She took control of who and what she wanted to be and she made it happen."

"Well, I mean, look at her." He gestured towards the yearbook photo and said, as if in his own defense, "She has changed a lot, you know."

"We all have, Don."

"Not you." Don grinned, teasing. "You're still a geek."

Charlie glared again and Don sighed. He leaned back on the chair and rubbed his hand over his short hair. "I don't know, buddy," he said, morosely, "maybe _I_ need to change. Maybe it's me."

"I don't think so, Don." Charlie was quick to disagree. "You're a great guy. You have a lot to offer any woman. You'll find someone." He hoped he sounded encouraging as he added, "Maybe you try too hard."

Don studied the beer bottle in his hand, picking at the label. "Dad says I don't try hard enough."

Charlie grinned suddenly and teased, "Hey, maybe you should join the Phoenix Connections Dating Service."

Don chuckled humorlessly. "After what you just told me that would be kind of awkward, don't you think?" He shook his head again, still working the label off. "No, I'll just take my chances. Maybe it's too late for me."

"Nah, it's never too late," Charlie said lightly, nudging his brother in the arm. "I just read about an 80 year old man who got married for the first time."

Don's eyes disappeared into crinkles and he laughed out loud. "Let's see," he raised his head, frowning comically, as he pretended to count, "that would make Dad 105. Kind of old to be bouncing grandchildren on his knees, huh?"

Charlie laughed with him. Don's eyes grew wide then as if something had just occurred to him and he turned back to his brother. "Guess that would leave it up to you and Amita to give him grandchildren."

Charlie managed to blush and blanch at the same time. His mouth opened and closed a few times, silently, before he could finally manage to sputter out, "Maybe . . . you _should_ change. We can . . . Amita and I . . . we can help you. We could . . . you know . . . start with your hair."

Don laughed, holding a hand in front of him. "Back off, little brother. I like my hair like this."

Charlie relaxed, enjoying the banter. "Alright. How about your tight jeans. Honestly, bro, I don't know how you manage to sit down."

"What, and dress like you? The whole 'absent minded professor' thing doesn't work for me." Don sat up straighter in the chair and looked at Charlie. "But, I'll tell you what hasn't changed, buddy."

"What's that?"

"I can still take you, one on one." He jerked his head in the direction of the backyard and their basketball hoop over the garage door. "What do you say?"

"In this heat?" Charlie whined.

"Come on, man up. A little sweat won't kill you. Besides, the sun's going down."

Charlie still hesitated and Don upped the ante. "Dad will be home soon. He'll be tired and it's too damn hot to cook. Loser buys the pizza, huh?"

"Alright," Charlie agreed, then stood up. "Get your money ready. Just let me change into something cooler."

He came down the stairs a few minutes later, wearing shorts and a tee shirt. Don was already outside and he could hear the sound of the basketball hitting the backboard as his brother got in a few practice throws.

The yearbook was still lying open on the table and Charlie felt drawn to it. Jeannie's green eyes gazed back at him from the page and he couldn't help but wonder how this would fit into his Cognitive Emergence work. Maybe he would talk to Larry about it tomorrow. Two women – both having been rejected by someone they cared for – each of them dealing with it in different ways; one, a positive path of enlightenment and improvement; the other, a negative path of revenge and murder.

Charlie knew Don had been teasing him about not having changed since high school. Obviously, they all had. Good or bad, change is inevitable. It's how you accept and adapt to the changes around you that separates the well adjusted, successful business woman from the serial killer.

With one last look at the striking green eyes, he smiled and closed the book. As he pushed the swinging door open to the kitchen, he heard Don's voice from the back yard. "Hey, Chuck, today sometime, huh? Oh, and grab me another beer on your way out."

But, then again, some things never change.

**The end**


End file.
